Remember, Remember, The First of September
by Casteline
Summary: After Fred's death, George retreated for months. With some help, he starts to figure out how to live... light Harry/George, if you squint.


_I needed to write something sad, so here's what happened. Maybe some light Harry/George, if you squint._

* * *

**Remember, Remember, The First of September**

After Fred's death, George retreated for months. He locked himself in the flat above Weasley Wizard Weezes and hardly ever came out. He was vaguely aware that the shop below remained open, run mostly by Percy, with the help of Harry, Ron and Ginny. He was also aware that his mother had arrived on at least six occasions, with two goals in mind: first, to try to convince Percy to close down the shop, and second, to try to coax George out of his room. She was successful in neither endeavor.

She magiced his door open (a pointless effort, as he'd no longer bothered to lock it), set down a large plate of food (which he would spend the next five days eating, but by bit), complained about how scrawny he was getting (the mirror in the bathroom had also complained, only half the reason he'd shattered it), and attempted to cut down his every growing shaggy hair (which also proved to be useless, as George had, unconsciously, turned her scissors into butterflies). George might have applauded her continuing efforts, if he had cared at all. However, the last thing he wanted was to be in the presence of his mother. He knew what it must be like for her, to have to look at him. For any of them to look at him.

He forced her from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He knew it would likely make her cry, as she always did; he didn't care.

"You heartless git!" Ginny's voice came through the door. He ignored her. She said exactly the same every time their mother left in tears.

"Please come out," Percy begged. "We're having family dinner at the Burrow. Please come with us."

George ignored him. There was a family dinner at the Burrow at least once a week. And every time, Percy would beg him to make an appearance. He never did.

"Don't you think you've been shut in here long enough," Harry's voice came through the door late that evening, presumably sometime after the family dinner. George almost jumped in surprise. He knew their routine down pat. Every day was the same, no deviations. Except today. He had not heard Harry's voice since the first few weeks after the fall of Voldemort. The shock of it almost brought him to open the door. Almost.

"It's getting old," Harry continued. But he had no idea. He could not understand. He heard Harry's weight slide down the wall, to the ground. "I get it, you know," he said, his voice softer now. "You think I don't but I do. Maybe I don't understand what it feels like to lose a twin, I can't imagine what that must feel like. But you're not the only one who lost someone in this. We all lost people we care about. You're not the only one hurting."

For a while, Harry was quiet, and, briefly, George had thought he'd left.

"I lost my parents long before I even knew there was a war going on," he continued. "I don't know what it was like to lose them; I never had them. But Sirius? Remus? They were like fathers to me. When Sirius died… I felt like I'd lost everything. Then Remus and Tonks… I didn't know how to react. And them leaving poor Teddy all alone. But he's not alone, not really. I swore to myself that, as his godfather, I'd never let him feel alone. I'd never let him feel like I felt for eleven years. And Fred… No, I can't imagine what it must feel like to lose a twin. I can't imagine what it must be like, to look into the mirror and see your dead brother staring right back at you. But I do know what it's like to lose a brother. Because, he was, you know, my brother. You all were the only family I ever head. He was my brother. And it hurts all the time, thinking about him. He's dead, and it's my fault. All of them. If it wasn't for me, they would all be alive today-"

"Don't you dare," George hissed, wrenching the door open finally. "Don't you dare blame yourself for their deaths. They died fighting _him_. Fighting for what they knew was right."

"I know," Harry said, looking him straight in the eyes. "Doesn't make it burn any less."

George half nodded, and retreated into his room, but left the door open, which Harry took as an invitation of sorts. He glanced into the bathroom, where the mirror lay shattered.

"Can't even look in the mirror," he stated, understanding.

"Couldn't stand seeing his face," George replied. "He was the better twin. Smarter, funnier. Better. The better twin died."

"No," Harry shook his head.

"Yes," George nodded. "I don't exist without him. Fred and George. Always Fred and George, George and Fred. I don't exist without him. Now I'm just George. The better twin died."

"Don't you think he'd be sitting here, thinking the exact same thing, if it had been you, rather than him."

George sighed. "I know he would."

"And don't you think," said Harry. "That he would want you to keep living your life, not sit here and wallow away?"

"I can't," George said quietly, tears welling in his eyes. "I can't stop thinking about him. You don't know what it's like. It's always been the two of us. _Always_. I can't stop thinking about him."

"Then don't," Harry said. "Don't force yourself to forget. Remember. Remember the first time you boarded the Hogwarts Express together. Remember when you first stepped foot in the Hogwarts Castle. Remember my first year, when you guys coached me in Quidditch. Remember when the Heir of Slytherin was going around the castle, and you two acted as my bodyguards. Remember when you gave me the marauder's map; remember when you stole it from Filch's office. Remember when you tried to cross the age line to the Goblet of Fire, and you both grew beards? When the three of us got kicked off the Quidditch team for fighting, even though he wasn't. When you made Hogwarts hell for Umbridge. Remember running away together. Remember opening your shop together. I didn't give you all that money to throw it all away. Remember when you marched into Hogwarts with the others, ready to fight. You weren't scared, neither was he. You both knew that you might die, but you didn't care. He died happy. He died laughing with Percy. He was happy. You remember when you found out that Sirius, Remus, and my dad were the Marauders who you'd idolized for so long? Don't become like them; don't pine away over the glory days. _Live_ the glory days."

When Harry finished his speech, George was in tears.

"I'll leave you alone," Harry said apologetically. "I didn't mean to upset you."

_(Remember, Remember, The First of September)_

When Percy arrived at Weasley Wizard Weezes the next morning, he was utterly shocked to find that it was already open. He was even more shocked to find that it was George who'd opened it. George, who was now clean shaven with short, careless red hair, and a wide grin across his face. Percy wasn't sure how to react.

Percy was still standing in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw drooping open, when Harry arrived several minutes later. Harry too stopped dead in the doorway.

"Come on boys," George exclaimed happily, throwing his arm over their shoulders and ushering them away from the door. "There's work to be done!"

Harry was still in so much shock, that he almost didn't notice the grateful wink George sent him as they carried on with their work. Harry smiled to himself as George cheerfully greeted a customer.

"You said something, didn't you," Percy said accusingly, when he was sure that George wasn't pay attention to them. "You talked to him."

Harry didn't respond, he merely smiled at the happy form of George Weasley entertaining his customers.

"It's good," Percy said. "Whatever you said, its good. Especially with Mum's birthday coming up… I don't know what we would have done if he ignored her. Gosh, I can't remember the last time I saw him laugh like that."

"You remember _exactly_ the last time he laughed like that," Harry corrected.

Percy let out a sad laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

_(Remember, Remember, The First of September)_

Three days later, an hour or so after closing, Harry found George bawling his eyes out in the storeroom.

Harry let out a small, sad sigh. He understood. He lowered himself to the ground, and pulled George's head into his lap and ran his hand soothingly through his hair.

"I know," he said. "It's hard, to keep the brave face."

"How do you do it?" George asked, through the tears. "You've lost so much, but you always seem okay."

"Years of practice," Harry said. "But don't think I haven't had more than a few breakdowns. Remember when Voldemort first returned? I was a walking breakdown that whole year. Granted, my breakdowns were more in a fit of rage. But, the point is, I always had people there for me. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, the whole Weasley family, Tonks, Luna, Neville. There was always someone there for me, even when I deserved for them to hate me. And you've got so many people here, if you need them. You don't have to wear the brave face all the time. We all know you're hurting, and none of us think any less of you for it."

"It just hurt so much. I don't want to bring everyone down with my soul crushing depression."

"George," he said. "You're not the only one hurting. We all lost Fred, not just you. We understand your pain."

Both were quiet for some time.

"You know," said Harry. "People think it's us who were lucky. We survived the war, we defeated Voldemort. But they're wrong. We have to keep living, rebuilding our lives without people who deserve to be here with us. _They're _the lucky ones. Hermione says it's called 'survivors guilt'. I don't know anyone who lived through the battle that isn't suffering from it, at least a little bit.

"You should talk to them," he concluded. "Your family. They'll understand."

_(Remember, Remember, The First of September)_

"I'm not okay," George told his family, as Harry suggested he should. "I don't know that I ever will be. But I've been unfair to all of you. I'm sorry. I just… I didn't want to put you all through the pain of seeing his face…"

There was an uproar of protest.

"Don't," he said, holding up a hand. "Don't pretend you don't. I can't look in the mirror, because every time I do, I see his faces staring back at me. Don't act like you don't see it too.

"It's hard, putting on a brave face, pretending its okay-"

"You don't have to," Ginny reminded him. "We all understand." There was a murmur of agreement.

"I know," he said. "I know. I just wish… I wish things could be like they were. I wish I could be like I was when he was here. Maybe… maybe one day, I'll be better. But not today."

* * *

_As I finished writing this, the song Without You by Hinder was playing, and it felt so depressingly ironic (though not really) that I almost changed the title. I will probably never be able to hear that song again without bursting into tears now._


End file.
